Divided We Fall (Reprised)
by VelocityGirl1980
Summary: Set at the end of S4. Agravaine has just been outed as a spy in Arthur's camp and Morgana has once again seized control of Camelot, while Arthur and co are on the run again. Cornered in the caves, Merlin tries to kill Agravaine, but the spell misfires and he's captured instead. Realising Merlin's power and the potential it could have for him, Agravaine thinks he is unstoppable.
1. The Drop of a Hat

**Summary:** Instead of killing Agravaine (e13; s4); Merlin is caught off-guard and captured by him. Realising that he now has a powerful weapon through which he can build his own army, Agravaine has big plans. Arthur, meanwhile, is torn between someone he realises is his closest friend and confidant, and saving his kingdom, inheritance, and his beloved Guinevere. AU.

**Author's Note: **I actually wrote and uploaded this fic about two years ago, but never got to finish it after starting a new job. Well, I decided to revive it by deleting the old one, fixing a few things and re-editing to tighten the plot. Here's the result. I own none of this, and I hope everyone enjoys it.

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**Chapter One: The Drop Of A Hat.**

"Don't do anything stupid."

Arthur's words were still ringing in Merlin's ears as he split from the group to create the promised diversion. At the time, he had deflected the coded warning with his usual front of self-deprecating humour. But as soon as he was alone, when only the sound of distant enemy voices joined the echo of his footsteps and his own ragged breathing; fear trickled like iced water down his spine and made his flesh crawl with apprehension.

Visibility was poor, and he found himself hugging the rough stone walls of the caves as he followed the distant sound of approaching footsteps; marching into the caves in which they had sought sanctuary. Once there was a time when he knew these caves like the back of his hand. But now, several years later, and with a memory of a distant childhood that begun to blur at the edges; grown nebulous with age, Merlin found each split in the path looked very much like another. He was going in blind, over reliant on a failing memory.

But, following his instincts, as well as the enemy voices growing steadily clearer, he took a sharp right. Suddenly, he sensed them close. He could hear their panting breaths, and just make out the guttering glow of their torch flames as they gathered at the mouth of the caverns. Merlin paused, and closed his eyes for just one minute in which he could compose himself and gather his thoughts. Once again, he found himself on the knife edge between life and death.

They were retreating in the opposite direction, and Merlin knew that it was now or never. He quickly cast a glance over his shoulder, down a potential escape route where he would lure Agravaine's men. The darkness was dense, impermeable, but he thought that it would give him cover when the time came. He could hole up in a crevice while they went on a wild goose chase. If, however, the worst came to the worst, there was always his magic to fall back on. He just had to concentrate and keep his mind clear, even in the heat of the moment.

With clenched fists, he pushed himself violently away from the wall he was hiding behind. He could just see the retreating backs of his foe, their torches now flickering pin-pricks of light in the distance, and heading in the direction that Arthur and others were bound to be going in. He took a deep breath of damp, musty cave air and gathered himself.

"Oi!" he bellowed, the call bouncing around the stone chamber he found himself in. "Hello!"

The enemy stopped, and he could clearly see the up-lit face of Agravaine at the heart of a knot of brigands. They seemed dazed; as though they couldn't quite believe what they were seeing as they whirled around to face him. So, for good measure, Merlin waved his arms over his head; making himself as visible as possible.

That did it. As soon as he let his arms fall back to his sides, he watched just long enough to make sure they followed him. Agravaine lunged at him, as though he could leap the divide that lay between in them in one go, the others soon following suit.

He ran down the passageway he'd just picked out as his escape route. But now that the enemy were closing in on him, their torch light revealed his blacked out escape route for what it really was: a dead end. In a panic he cast about for a crevice; anything in which he could hide. But, he was trapped, and the enemy footsteps had come crashing to a halt, right behind him. He could almost sense Agravaine's panting breath, hot against the back of his neck.

Slowly, he turned around. The two of them faced each other, and as Agravaine lowered his torch his face became shadowed, all Merlin could make out where the whites of his coal black eyes. A hundred possible escapes ran through his mind at once. He even thought of summoning Kilgarrah, who was bound to still be in the vicinity. But it was impossible; he was deep in a network of caves! To play for time; time in which he could calm his jangled nerves, he played along with the verbal sparring he knew was inevitable.

"Merlin!" panted Agravaine, as he finally recognised the dishevelled servant that trembled before him. "Where's Arthur?"

"Be careful," he replied, trying for all he was worth to sound nonchalant.

"What're you talking about?" retorted Agravaine, impatiently. "Where's Arthur?" he repeated. "Tell me, now. Or I'll have to kill you!"

"Don't think so!"

It was all the time Merlin needed. With no further ado, he wiped his mind blank and focused all his energy on the silent spell. All it took was a jerk of his head, and the enemy were swept back as though an invisible tidal wave had simply washed them away, before throwing them back against the jagged rocks that lined the ground of the cavern.

Merlin gasped as the relief swept over him, making him light headed. He took just a short moment to appraise the prostrate bodies of his pursuers, making sure each was neutralised for good. Satisfied, he wasted no more time, and leapt over Agravaine to begin his journey to rejoin Arthur and the others – wherever they may be.

Before his foot so much as left the ground, however, he heard a gasp as one of the men suddenly revived. The curse froze on his lips as two large hands reached out and grabbed his ankles as he jumped Agravaine, and he was suddenly brought crashing down, as though his own spell had somehow backfired on him.

"You have magic!" Agravaine panted, still with that infuriating note of triumph in his voice.

"I've had it since birth!" retorted Merlin, defiantly, as he immediately thrashed out against the other man.

His free hand connected with Agravaine's soft, malleable belly. But the only effect the blow seemed to have was to aggravate the man into even rougher action. He grunted as he immobilised Merlin by tackling him back to the ground and pinning him in place. With all the magic in the world, Merlin was no match for Agravaine's brawn and superior fighting powers. An array of spells and incantations tumbled through Merlin's mind all at once, but before he could even utter the first thing that came into his head, rough hands hauled him to his feet before throwing him violently against the rock face that formed the wall of the cavern. He hit his head and the wits were knocked clean out of him. A cold trickle meandered down his temple, he raised a trembling hand to the spot; it came away damp and livid red with fresh blood.

Before he could react; before he could even raise his head enough to look up into Agravaine's eyes, a blow came from nowhere and sent him skidding several feet along the ground. He was dimly aware of the thick dust being sucked up his nostrils as he pulled under a deep, dark, tide.

* * *

Arthur relied on his own instincts to get him through the caves, more than anything else. He followed the twisting, meandering, tunnels. Paused briefly at every fork and divide he met, and sniffed tentatively at the atmosphere, hoping that the unmistakable scent of fresh air would permeate the dank, damp, stench of their current settings. The only sound was that of his companion's panting as they struggled to keep up with him. And always; always, at the back of his mind, he was aware of her. Guinevere.

Her betrayal, even in the midst of all that had happened at Camelot, was still biting at his heart and dragging him under. Even now, with Morgana's latest treachery threatening his very existence, the image of Gwen in Lancelot's arms still reared up at the back of his mind and taunted him mercilessly. Still, he consoled himself, Merlin was always there, always loyal, and always there in the heat of the moment when trouble broke. And trouble in Camelot came at the drop of a hat, these days. Yet, when the hat dropped, Merlin was the first to offer to help pick it back up again. Not that he would ever admit that, of course. There were some things only his truest heart would ever know, and that was most definitely one of them. And that reminded him.

"Merlin should be back by now," he said as he whirled around to face Gwen, Tristan and Isolde.

The other three leapt back from the flames of the torch that Arthur had almost burned them with. "Where do you think he's got to?"

"I don't know," replied Gwen. Her large brown eyes were wide, and glittered in the flames. Her worry was etched in her face. "He's in danger, I know it. We should go back for him."

"Idiot!" snapped Arthur, more to disguise the fear of the dawning comprehension at the truth of her words, than out of real anger.

"Sure, he's only a servant," goaded Tristan. "They're ten a penny where you're from, I'm sure."

Up until now, Arthur had done his best to brush the man's jibes off. But that was a step too far. His nerves, his exhaustion, and now his temper all collaborated to push him over the edge.

"Well, you stay here with the girls while I go look for him, then!" he retorted hotly. "Seeing as you're so brave, so downtrodden and so damn noble."

Without further ado, he pushed past Tristan – ignoring the ugly leer on his face – and set off back the way he came. Only to be stopped by a small hand grabbing his elbow. He whirled around and found Gwen looking up into his eyes. The fear was gone, now, and had been replaced by a resolute determination. It was a look he'd seen in her a hundred times before, always in times of danger, when all seemed lost. Even that memory caused a spasm of pain in his heart.

"I'm coming with you," she whispered. "You two wait here for us," she added to Tristan and Isolde.

He knew better than to argue with her, and he hadn't the time anyway. But still, despite the way she looked at him now, and despite the sudden swell of love for her, he couldn't bring himself to utter so much as a word of thanks. He simply shrugged his shoulders, and gave a gruff grunt before leading the way back the way they came.

It didn't take as long as he thought it would. Arthur soon found the spot where he and Merlin had parted company, and he followed the split in the path down which Merlin had gone.

"I told him not to do anything stupid," he muttered to no one in particular.

"Well, you know Merlin," replied Gwen.

He got the sense that she only replied to fill the terrible silence that fell between them. Something to say for the sake of it. He wished that he could respond, or reciprocate in any way. But always that … pride. Soon, however, his thoughts of Gwen were cut off as though someone somewhere had managed to flick a switch in his mind.

Following the tracks left in the dusty damp ground, they reached a cavern that was blocked by an impassable rock face. The small space of the cavern was littered with the bodies of Agravaine's men. Whether dead or stunned, Arthur couldn't tell.

"Bloody hell," he whispered low as he took in the scene before him. At his side, Gwen suppressed a scream. "Just look at them all!"

"What on earth happened?" she gasped.

But Arthur ignored the question. "He's not here," he muttered as he studied each stupefied face that littered the floor. Going by their expressions, whatever it was they saw before they expired, Arthur didn't want to meet it down a dark alley. Or a dark cave, for that matter.

"Neither is Agravaine," added Gwen as she moved closer to Arthur's side and took a long look around. "I don't know if I should be glad or angry."

Both of them were thinking the same thing, but neither was about to voice it out loud. It was as though neither of them wanted to give their worst fears any vocal weight, or added reality. But neither could imagine how anyone could have survived whatever it was that had happened there.

"We could check and see if any are alive," suggested Gwen, desperately. "One of them might know something."

The idea appealed to him, but deep in his heart, he already knew that it was pointless, as well as far too dangerous. They were, after all, enemy soldiers. Arthur's heart palpitated, and his mouth ran dry at the thought of Merlin suffering the tender mercies of Agravaine, if that was indeed who had him at that moment. He lost himself in his thoughts, and only another prod from Gwen brought him around.

"Come on," she said. "We need to get out of here. We may find them."

No matter how much he wanted those damp, rough, walls to reveal the secret of what had happened there that night, it wasn't going to happen. Reluctantly, he turned away, numb with disbelief. He swallowed hard at a lump that had formed in his throat, and with feet of lead, let himself be led away by Gwen.


	2. Greater Safety

**Author's Note: **thank you to everyone who read and reviewed this story, it means a lot. The usual disclaimers apply and I own none of this. Thanks again for reading and reviews would be appreciated. Thanks!

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**Chapter Two: Greater Safety**

Agravaine didn't stop until he reached the Castle. His men had been decimated and what few he had left (those who were left outside, guarding the caves entrance) were commanded to keep Merlin completely immobilised on the one carriage that Morgana had loaned him for the mission. But it wasn't to Camelot that he rode now. Camelot was the last place he wanted to be, and the last place he would deliver his precious cargo. He wasn't born yesterday; being perfectly capable of putting two and two together, he knew he had the venerable Emrys in his care. Through Emrys, Morgana would be made to pay for her casual dismissal of him. He would regain what Helios had stolen, and more besides.

So, he rode through the night, ignoring the aches that gnawed at his whole body and the over-hanging tree branches that lashed at his face as he galloped through the woods. By the break of dawn, he had reached his destination. He dismounted his exhausted horse, and looked up at the grim edifice of the Castle ramparts that rose from the barren landscape; standing starkly against the lightening skies. All along the eastern wall, the severed heads of fallen traitors stared outwards through crow pecked, dead eyes; seeing nothing, and terrifying the unwary wanderers who strayed this far north in Essetir. A travesty of scarecrows, set to deter the unwary. But Agravaine, after months of serving Morgana, finds his nerves quite unshaken by the sight of the harmless dead.

Ever since the death of Cenred, this Kingdom had been ruled by King Lot. The unpredictable had been replaced by the downright dangerous. Lot, thought Agravaine, was a bit like Uther and his attitude to sorcery, only Lot hunted down just about anyone who crossed his path magical, or not. But still, compared to what lay back in Camelot, this was Agravaine's place of greater safety. Through his work on Arthur's council, he'd had dealing with Lot already, and the two were more than passingly acquainted with one another.

He looked over his shoulders and squinted through the dawn mists. Just behind him now, the silence was punctuated with the hoof-beats of horses, and he could see the carriage approach as the others finally caught up with him. In his haste, he hadn't realised just how far ahead of them he was. As soon as they were close enough, Agravaine approached the first man to reach him.

"Urien," he greeted the man gruffly. "Is everything all right?"

Urien dismounted, and drew himself to his full, considerable height. "It's all good," he replied; his manner indicating that Agravaine was worrying too much. "But are you sure this is the right one? He looks like a servant and I've seen a creature so … runty." He screws up his face as he ponders Merlin.

"He is a servant," replied Agravaine, impatiently. "What do you expect him to look like? He was in Camelot, and his type aren't exactly welcome there."

Urien looked deeply doubtful of the whole thing, but questioned his master no further. "What shall we do with him while you're in with Lot?" he eventually asked. "He'll wake up at any minute – if he isn't already – and have the lot of us plastered against the Castle ramparts before we can so much as say a word." He'd heard about what Merlin did to his colleagues, and had no desire to see for himself.

Agravaine had already considered the problem, however. While fruitlessly attempting to remove Gaius from Court, he'd searched the man's offices and seized some interesting books. He didn't think much of it at the time, but one remedy sprang to mind immediately. He pointed to where the carriage containing Merlin had pulled up outside the Castle, some distance from where they now stood.

"Send one of the men there out to fetch some Valerian," he said with a nod to the two guards that he had left. "Boil some water from a stream, stew the plants in it for a few minutes then force down the boy's wretched throat. He'll be drugged, but unharmed. And that's the way I want him – unharmed." Every mark on Merlin's body would devalue him.

As Urien turned to carry out his command, Agravaine watched the carriage. He had no idea of what state Merlin was in, and it worried him. Merlin was far more valuable to him while he was alive, and unharmed. Soon, one of the two carriage guards was on a spare horse, and cantering back towards the woods – presumably to fetch the tranquillizing plant that Agravaine had ordered.

"I don't understand," said Urien as he returned to Agravaine. "Why don't you just take him back to Morgana? Surely she'd reward you for returning her greatest enemy to her?"

"Because I am not a fool," he replied. He shuddered still when he recalled their last meeting. It was clear from her behaviour that Morgana had considered him spent, and used. He'd served his purpose, and got her the crown of Camelot, and he'd only been spared then because he'd promised to deliver Emrys to her. If he completed this task, then like Lot's predecessor, he was sure he'd be dispensed with. Politics was a fickle game, and Morgana was dangerous as well as fickle.

"Fair enough," said Urien with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "So, why are we waiting out here? Is Lot expecting us?"

"Not exactly," replied Agravaine, drily and turning back to the eastern ramparts, where the severed heads continued their deathly vigil. "Something tells me he isn't exactly a morning person."

* * *

Arthur, Guinevere, Tristan and Isolde, all emerged from the mouth of the caves; bewildered and blinking into the broad morning light. The air of dejection about them was something palpable. They looked at one another, searching each other's faces for the answers that they knew full well none had. Again, despite Tristan's mocking, they all looked to Arthur for leadership, even though at that moment he felt he couldn't lead so much as a piss up in a brewery.

They had searched all night for Merlin. A fruitless wild goose chase down passageways that merely led back onto themselves, or reaching one dead end after another. So adding to their wearied efforts was this devastating sense of loss. They were divided, and Arthur knew he couldn't do what had to be done alone. Tristan may think Merlin to be a normal servant, but only Arthur knew the lengths that Merlin could go to. To take his mind off his latest failure, Arthur took a deep steadying breath, and spoke without even thinking.

"To the northern plains," he said, simply for the sake of offering some sort of leadership.

"No," replied Gwen.

Arthur whirled around to face her, where she was propped up against the rock face from which they had just emerged. She looked like she always did when she had inadvertently challenged someone in authority. Her lower lip trembled like a child's; her eyes widened at her own tremulous courage, and Arthur felt an all too familiar pang of regret and frustrated affection that he could never batten down. Why did she always look like a frightened child at moments like this? He wanted to hug her to death, whenever she looked like that. But her betrayal…

"If the others are still alive, they'll be in the forest of Essetir," she pointed out. "Agravaine will have taken Merlin back to Camelot, and to Morgana. We need to get to back there; the people need you, as well as Merlin."

Arthur suppressed a dry, mirthless laugh. He heard a low rumble in the distance. It could have been an earthquake. It could have been the sound of Uther Pendragon turning in his grave. Arthur found that he didn't much care anymore.

"If we go back to Camelot now, we'll all be killed," replied Arthur. "I can't take that risk-"

"So you're just giving up?"

Isolde disentangled herself from Tristan's arms, and stepped forwards. The expression in her wide, vivid eyes, was resolute and firm.

"Gwen is right, Arthur," she said, a little more softly. "We need to rally whoever is left, and take back Camelot before it's too late. If we act fast, we might just be able to save Merlin."

All three of them now looked back at Arthur expectantly; the tension in the air thickening. This latest set-back had thrown Arthur into a state of inertia, punctuated at random by bouts of snap decisions and hasty actions. But he understood the sense in what she was saying. But Tristan, however, had grown impatient. He moved to stand at Isolde's side, but addressed Arthur.

"You have a stark choice," he stated. "You can run and be hunted down like an animal for the rest of your life, or you can die fighting for what is yours by so-called birth right!"

Reluctantly, a decision was made. If he didn't get Camelot back, then he would never see Merlin again, anyway. He turned his back on the north, and Lot's kingdom, and nodded towards the forest that surrounded them on the right of their path. Guinevere raised a pained smile, signalling that she – for one – was determined to stand by him. Isolde looked like the cat that got cream, such was the prospect of the upcoming fight. He turned to look at Tristan, and there behind that mask of indifference, was just the faintest flicker of something like approval.

"I'll lead the way than, shall I?" he asked, setting forth at once.

* * *

Somewhere, in some deep, unacknowledged part his mind, Merlin felt his own consciousness creeping up on him. It crawled like poison through his veins, and dragged him out of the warm, comfortable darkness that closed over him some indeterminate time ago. Dazed and felled, he lay there, perfectly still, as he struggled to recall what had happened. He remembered the caves and the misfired spell, but little else.

As he lay there, he became aware of the sharp, pulsing pain that twisted up the side of his head. He could taste the blood at the back of throat, and every part of him ached; his stomach lurching horribly. Although determined to remain perfectly still, he risked opening his eyes; trying to work out where he was. But it was dark. Heavy fabric blotted out the light of the windows, and only chinks of sun filtered in through a slim rent in the cloth. The smell of stale straw assaulted his clogged nostrils, and the only sound was that of muffled voices coming from outside of the box he was in.

"The King will see you now," said an unrecognised man's voice. "Keep it brief, he's a busy man, these days."

"Arthur!" whispered Merlin as he lay there picking out the words.

But, as soon as his master's name had left his lips, the events of the last few days dropped into the forefront of his mind like a rock boulder. Suddenly, outside, the sound of marching footsteps splashing through puddles drew closer, and he heard the door handles being wrenched open. In a panic, he rolled over onto his front and tried to get to his knees. But before he could draw breath, two pairs of hands grasped him and pinned him flat on his back on the floor of the carriage he could now see he was in.

He was struggling like a fish out of water as the men held him down, and if he could just loosen one leg he knew he could kick one of them away. But, no sooner did he realise that, then a third man appeared. Agravaine forced his hand over Merlin's nose, pinching it tight so that he had to breathe through his mouth. The moment his mouth was open, something hot, liquid, and foul tasting was tipped down his throat.

It all happened so fast that he gulped the noxious fluid down by reflex alone. He carried on struggling, but tears now stung his eyes, and his limbs began to feel heavy, and clumsy. Suddenly, the men relinquished their grip and leapt out of the carriage to get a proper look at him. He tried to speak; to cry out, but his tongue felt like it was weighted down, and his throat was closing in on itself. His vision blurred, and all he wanted to do was go back to sleep. He felt like he was being pulled back into unconsciousness, only stopping short of full sleep. His powers were useless in such a state.

"Perfect," said Agravaine. "Urien, go into Lot and let him know Emrys and I are on our way in."

* * *

The differences between Lot's Court and Arthur's couldn't be more stark. Agravaine followed the usher who led them to Lot's chamber of presence, but glanced from the corner of his eye every time they passed another Courtier. Here, they flinched into the shadows like whipped bitches at their approach. It was cowed and silent; where Camelot was always so full of life and colour. He didn't think that even Morgana could quite stamp that zest out of the castle of Camelot; not to this extent.

They passed down dreary stone passageways that were ill-lit by burning torches set in sconces at irregular intervals along the bare stone walls. Their footsteps rang through the heavy silence that, otherwise, hung like a suffocating shroud over the whole building. Even the air inside was foetid and damp.

Before long, they were led to a wide open chamber. At the back of the chamber, a dais was set against the wall, upon which a surprisingly sparse; surprisingly old man was sat swathed in furs to fight off the pervading chills. This, Agravaine presumed, was the infamous Lot. He cast a glance over his shoulder, to where Urien was helping to drag a now helpless Merlin into the chamber, and then turned to face the King. If he knew no better, he would have sworn that this man was no match for Cenred. As custom dictated, Agravaine waited patiently for Lot to speak first.

"So, my nephew's killers seek sanctuary in my walls, do they?" said Lot, his voice sounded a lot stronger than his body looked. "Well, that's a surprising turn of events!"

Lot threw his arms open, as though expecting some sort of a reaction. It was only then that Agravaine realised that they were not alone. Servants, silent and glassy eyed, lined the walls and shrank into the shadows and they all laughed politely at their master's distinctly unfunny joke. Agravaine, however, was a professional. He painted on his politician's polite smile, and slipped effortlessly into business mode.

"With all due respect, Your Grace," he said. "My friends and I are not seeking sanctuary. We're here to strike a bargain with you, against the forces that currently occupy Camelot illegally."

"A bargain?" echoed Lot; regarding Agravaine through eyes of flint, and as about as expressive. "What's that slave got to do with it?" he added, pointing a finger at Merlin who had been forced to his knees in front of the King.

Agravaine's smile widened, and he clapped an avuncular hand on Merlin's shoulder; making him sway and almost topple over.

"This is no slave, your grace," he replied cheerily. "You know, of course, that Arthur Pendragon has now been over-thrown by Lady Morgana, the daughter of Uther Pendragon. He is hunted down, and will soon be dead-"

"What is that to me?" asked Lot, cutting Agravaine off as he leaned in closer to look Merlin up and down. It was though the King were weighing him up by the ounce; assessing his worth.

"It is everything to you, or at least, it could be," replied Agravaine, slipping in the hard sell.

"Morgana will never hold Camelot on her own. The people loath her, and defy her at every turn. And then, there is Merlin here. Or, as he also likes to be called, Emrys."

If Agravaine was expecting a big reaction, he did not get it. Lot simply chewed at the end of a dirty fingernail, and glanced from Merlin to Agravaine, and back again. It was hard for Agravaine to suppress an exasperated sigh.

"And?" asked Lot, growing evidently impatient. "Are you Emrys, boy?"

Agravaine looked down at Merlin, whose hands were bound behind his back now, and gave him a nudge.

"The Druids call me it," Merlin eventually replied, his voice slow and thick with the effects of the drugged water he'd been forced to swallow.

"This is Morgana's biggest fear," Agravaine clarified. "Through Emrys, we can destroy Morgana, and you can take Camelot for yourself. Your own Empire, here in Albion. Who knows, you could even take the lot if you pull this one off."

That did it. Lot's entire countenance changed. He sat up a little straighter, regarding Agravaine coolly through those flint grey eyes that now glittered. The prosperous Kingdom of Camelot was a tempting sweetener for anyone. And, it brought revenge; revenge against Morgana for the slaying of his kinsman.

"And what's in it for you, may I ask?" Lot was as shrewd as he looked. Something as big as this always came with a price tag to match.

"All I want is roof space for the duration of the campaign to subdue Camelot, men for any battles that we may face and a place to keep Emrys here safe," replied Agravaine, trying to suppress his triumphant smile. "Then, when our mission is complete, I would like a place on your council."

He had been supplanted by Helios on Morgana's council. She had promised him everything, and delivered nothing. Now, he stood poised on the brink of getting it all regardless. It all depended on what Lot did next.

"Agreed," he stated, and Agravaine nearly fainted with relief. "But if you try to double-cross me, I will have you feeding the carrion crows on the castle ramparts, along with all my other headless friends, quicker than you can click your scabby fingers."

Instructions were barked out to have Merlin secured deep in the dungeons of the castle. Men materialised from the shadows, soft-footed and silent, to perform their master's every command. Agravaine watched with an exhausted detachment, assuming his audience with the King had drawn to a close.

* * *

Morgana rose from the bed on which she had snatched a few moments of stolen sleep. Her brain was still fogged by her rest, and he limbs ached as she stretched herself out. Outside the window, she could still the see the smoke rising from the burned crops from the surrounding villages. It curled into the darkening skies that stretched out over the town, and built into a haze of choking fumes. She could smell it from where she sat. They could either acknowledge her as Queen, or suffer the consequences.

But no matter how often she told herself that, there was always that nagging voice at the back of her head. There was that nagging need for approval; that want to be liked streak that still ran through her. Just as she rubbed the residue of sleep from her eyes, a soft knock came to her door. She shook out her mane of hair, and bid the visitor enter.

Seconds later, and Helios was before her; an open letter in his hands.

"A message from Agravaine," he flatly stated, handing her the creased paper. "He has Emrys, or so he says."

Morgana snatched the letter from his hands, and read it at speed. The further down the hastily scribbled note she got, the deeper the frown that furrowed her brow. When she finished, she left the parchment slip from her fingers, as her mind whirled to make sense of it.

"Has he betrayed me?" she asked, her voice tremulous. "He has, hasn't he? Why hasn't he brought Emrys straight to me, like I asked?"

Helios acted quickly. "We don't know that," he assured her. He caressed her face, trying to soothe the worry that edged her clipped features. "Give me some men, and I will ride out to meet with him, and see what he wants in return for Emrys. You know I won't fail you."

Morgana made no immediate reply, but after a moment, she gave a jerky nod of her head. She turned back to the window, where the crop fires still burned, the cities food supply reduced to glowing embers. Whatever it took to get her hands on Emrys, she would do it without a seconds thought.


	3. Options Open

**Author's**** Note:**

Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, it means a lot. Usual disclaimers apply, and I hope people enjoy the story. Reviews welcome, thanks again!

* * *

**Chapter Three: Options Open.**

While he awaited word from Morgana, Agravaine decided to make himself useful by going over Lot's household accounts. The revenues coming in from land tenants, small holdings and local businesses was a tidy sum; more still could be yielded if the locals were coaxed into actually paying what was owed. All in all, he was satisfied that a sizeable profit could be yielded from the Kingdom. The accounts were as exciting as greasy dishwater, but the idle alternative was worse.

He had been awake all night; wondering what to do next. He'd gone one step beyond the brink of despair while studying the brickwork in the bare walls of his chambers. All the time thinking of Morgana, and weighing her up against the value of his own ambition. Cutting a path through the confusion, he tried to find that elusive middle ground where he could keep her love and secure himself. All he needed to do, he told himself, was act.

His work was interrupted, just as the sun rose, by a knock at his door. He set down his quill, and answered the call personally. He turned down Lot's offer of servants from his own staff; deciding that his business best remain private until his next step was decided. There was still a way for him to claw back his position with Morgana; all he had to do was massage his way through negotiations.

The visitor was Urien.

"Any word from Morgana?" he asked. His voice was barely a whisper, but still the noise seemed to carry in the dense, early morning, silence.

"More than that," answered Urien. "Helios is at the gates. He wants a word; in private."

Agravaine gave a curt nod, and followed as soon as the chamber was secured. After a short walk through the twisting passages of the Castle, the pair of them emerged, gratefully, into the open air. Even the weak morning light made Agravaine wince after a day cooped up inside Lot's dingy Castle.

"Where is he? Outside the walls?"

"Follow me," Urien answered. "He was nervous about getting too close to the enemy. Lot seems to have that effect on everyone."

Urien led him past the spot where their carriage lay abandoned, just beyond the ramparts, and further onwards over a rocky field. When they reached the outskirts of the forest of Essetir, he still pressed on, down to a small stream that meandered lazily past, supplying the Castle and a nearby town with fresh water. There, a large chestnut horse lapped at the cool waters; a tall man patting its white flecked side as it did so.

Agravaine addressed him firmly. "Good morrow, Helios."

He tried to keep the hostility he felt to a minimum. Ever since Morgana seized control of Camelot, he'd been the Queen's shadow; insinuating himself with everyone, and into everything. It had been too much for Agravaine, but Morgana seemed smitten with the man. Helios paused, his hand still caressing the soft belly of his horse, and turned to glance sidelong at Agravaine.

"What're you playing at?" he asked, softly. "Have you got Emrys, or no? What is the proof?"

"He is secure, don't you worry about that," replied Agravaine. "You can tell that to the Queen, as well."

"He speaks true," Urien interjected as he positioned himself between the two men. "Emrys was captured in the caves; our men killed, and Agravaine barely got out with his life."

Helios gave them his full attention now. He left the horse to drink in peace, and closed the gap between himself and Agravaine. The two of them stared at each other, like two barroom brawlers about to square up to one another. "Then what, may I ask, are you doing here? You know how much the Queen needs that man."

Agravaine smiled his usual charming smile; the effect of it quite lost on Helios, however. They never did understand that he was a man who liked to keep his options open. The future, to him, was something to be steered like his own personal donkey cart.

"I think we need to strike a bargain, don't you?" he replied. The question was rhetorical, so he pressed on without waiting for an answer. "I have promised King Lot that I would help him to annex Camelot, unseat Morgana, and take the land for Essetir. King Lot, in return, has given me men, arms, and sanctuary within the Castle."

Helios' anger was only briefly betrayed by the glitter in his dark eyes, a fleeting crease of annoyance in his brow.

"Why are you telling me this? What games are you playing now?" he asked; his voice menacingly low as he peered intently into Agravaine's face, searching for the elusive truth.

For his part, Agravaine kept up the front of glacial calm. "Because, if the conditions were right, I could just as easily take out King Lot, and hand Essetir over to Queen Morgana."

"How?"

"He has no heir," Agravaine replied, an almost beatific smile on his face. "I have checked, and if he dies, then this will be a Kingdom without a King, or an heir. It would be Camelot's for the taking."

It was part his master plan. If Morgana agreed, and proved as good as her word, he would do it. Then she could have Emrys to do with as she pleased; it was the only reason he was kept alive and drugged in the cells, deep below the Castle. Agravaine thought he saw a flash of admiration in Helios' eyes. Or at least, something close to it. Whatever it was, there was still little in the way of love between them, and Helios was still guarded.

"What do you want in return?" he asked. "There's bound to be a price for your loyalty."

"If I deliver both Emrys, and Essetir, to Morgana, then I get to govern this Kingdom as a Principality," he replied. "I get the main revenues, with first fruits and tenths going to Camelot. I already have men, and more will follow when they realise the local tyrant is dead."

"And what if the Queen doesn't agree?"

"Tell me, have you found Arthur yet?" Agravaine asked, already knowing what the answer would be. "He's bound to be somewhere, within the borders of this Kingdom, and he'll be a lot easier to find once I have the local army out looking for him. The way I see it, she barely has a choice. Now if you excuse me, I am expected to inspect my new troops today."

He began walking away, leaving Helios staring agape as he went. He glanced over his shoulder, and added: "Play your cards right, and they could be merged into Camelot's army, soon."

* * *

For a few golden moments, Arthur forgot where he was. He was in that twilight between sleep and consciousness, where the real world was still yet to resolve itself around him. But, the sounds of the camp site soon intruded on his world, jolting him back to reality. He sat up, rubbing the residue of sleep from his eyes and poked his head out of the makeshift tent he had erected in the small clearing that was now their home.

Gwen was collecting fire wood with Isolde, laughing and joking with each other like two old friends. Tristan was out of sight; the way that Arthur preferred him. Assured that everything was as it should be, he withdrew into the tent again. His belt and hauberk were piled to one side, and his boots were carelessly dumped on the opposite side. He sighed deeply, and started to miss Merlin all over again. He could have managed all this in a trice. Alas, he thought to himself, it was a servant's lot to only be missed when the work really wasn't getting done.

Once dressed, he sheathed his sword, noticing the nicks in the blade at the same time. Soon, it would be nigh on impossible to use. Outside, he noticed that the girls had fallen silent. Their chatter had shut off suddenly, and soft footsteps approached his tent, stopped right beside it.

"Arthur!" Guinevere breathed his name. "Arthur, there's someone coming."

Instinctively, he reached for his sword and gripped the cold, reassuring solid, handle as he emerged from his tent. Gwen was there, waiting for him, wide eyed with nerves.

"Where?" he asked, keeping his voice low, and then pressed a finger to his lips.

In response, she raised an arm; pointing towards a steep incline just beyond a thicket of trees in front of them. On the periphery of his vision, he could just see Isolde and Tristan skirting around the camp site; their weapons already drawn. The tension in their clearing intensified as Arthur drew out his sword, ready for combat. He thought about calling out to the intruder, but decided instead to wait for them to reveal themselves.

The minutes seemed to drag themselves out as the four of them fell completely still, as though one more move may spring a hidden trap. A dry twig cracked under somebody's foot, and they all shot each other warning glances as the unseen intruder stepped forwards. As one, they all lunged forwards for the attack, but Arthur bellowed at the top of his voice as the familiar scarlet cloak came into view.

"Hold!" his voice rang through the still forest, causing a flock of birds to take sudden flight from their nests in the unseen tree tops.

"Arthur!" gasped Sir Leon, practically falling down the steep incline in his efforts to reach the King. "Thank God I found you."

Arthur lowered his sword and had to lean back against a stout tree-trunk to stop himself from fainting with relief. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Gwen had fallen to the floor, and now sat with her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking with tears. The urge to go to her was almost over-powering, but first, he wanted to hug Leon. Never had he been so relieved to see him.

"You scared the life out of us!" laughed Arthur, still regaining his composure. He took a few deep, steadying breaths and continued: "Are there any others with you? What happened?"

"Morgana's men are everywhere," he replied as Arthur steered him towards the centre of their clearing. "But the others and I, we're hidden in the valley of the fallen kings-"

"You mean, you're still in Camelot?" Arthur interjected.

Leon grinned. "You didn't think we'd abandon the place, did you?"

Arthur didn't know what he had been thinking since the fall of Camelot. Between Merlin, Gwen, and Morgana, his thoughts had been scattered to the four winds. He wouldn't have been surprised if his own men had lost faith in him, because he certainly had.

"How many of you are there?" he asked.

"Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan were all captured," replied Leon, not attempting to soften the blow of the news. "But the rest are all right. We can still take Morgana on, and win."

"Without three of my best fighters?" asked Arthur, brow raised sceptically.

"Morgana's army is small," insisted Leon. "We're evenly matched, unless she suddenly gets a rush of people joining her army, which I doubt will happen; then we could win this."

Arthur was unhappy with the odds, but Leon was the second person to remind him that he really had no choice. He nodded his agreement to a plan to rejoin his main army over the border in Camelot, and was about to turn back to begin the move, when he stopped Leon again. He already knew the answer, but seeing as the day had proven to be full surprises, he decided to try his hand any way.

"Is Merlin with you?" he asked. "He hasn't been seen for days now."

"Merlin?" repeated Leon with a shake of his head. "I thought he was with you."

Another life line was cut off, another ray of hope extinguished. Arthur averted his gaze, and cast a wary look over the clearing. He could feel himself being pushed into a corner and boxed in. If Merlin was there, he knew, he'd tell it was time to start fighting his way out again.

* * *

Morgana pressed her nose against the window, and let her gaze roam freely over the normally bustling little town of Camelot. The markets were empty; trade had ceased since she gained control. The usually thronging streets echoed empty, except for the flint faced guards who patrolled the cobbled streets on horseback. Beyond the gates, lay the charred black fields were the smoke still curled into the piercingly blue sky. Still, the people had not yielded to her.

All the time, no one saw that those streets were a part of her. She had grown within those walls, and she knew every crack in the roads like the backs of her hands. She was them; they were her. But the gulf between them yawned ever wider, and a glass barrier had fallen between she and her people. A glass barrier of her own making.

As her thoughts drifted along the streets she knew so well, a movement caught her eye. Helios riding at speed through open gates of the citadel. She dropped the empty goblet she clutched in her hands, and strode through the chamber to meet him as he dismounted in the forecourt. In her haste to reach him, she ignored the strained deference that her Courtiers forced themselves to show as she passed.

"Where is he?" she asked Helios before his feet hit the ground. "Agravaine, I mean. What about Emrys?"

"I'll tell you inside," he replied as he led her back the way she came.

Once they were inside the safety of the counsel chamber, he told her everything that Agravaine had said to insinuate himself with King Lot. More than once, he had to calm her down and implore her to see sense.

"He has an army," he reiterated firmly. "All you have to do is guarantee his position-"

"No!" she retorted hotly. "He wants me to make him a King in all but name, don't you see?"

"Morgana!" he hissed low. "You need the army, and you need the land. You've just burned the food supply; alienated the whole Kingdom and the best Knights are in your dungeon, don't you see that? If Agravaine goes ahead and gets rid of Lot, you'll need him a lot more than he will need you," he paused, before adding slowly: "And he has Emrys."

Morgana's expression froze, and she turned to look him in the eye. "It's true?" she whispered, her voice cracked with emotion.

He nodded.

"He told me what happened in the caves, where Emrys was caught," he explained. "When they went before Lot, he confessed who he was. Others have vouched for the story."

"Then give him whatever he wants," she replied resolutely. "If he wants all the other four Kingdoms, then he can damn well have them. I need Emrys here."

* * *

Merlin's eye lashes fluttered and the breath caught in his throat. It felt like there was some blockage there; obstructing his lungs and choking him slowly. His breathing was ragged, barely strong enough to make a noise or stir the loose straw that lay beneath his prone body. The smell was dank; a mouldy cloud that hung low over his prison cell. To cap it all, his stomach churned with the effects of the Valerian. He knew it had to be Valerian; a plant he gathered for Gaius all the time, in days and times more routine than these. It was used to help people sleep, and if prepared hastily, or in too greater quantities it could induce a coma.

He lay still; perfectly still. The slightest noise would bring out his guards, who would tip more of the sleeping draught down his throat and render him powerless in a matter of seconds. The cell was literally a barred cage, the likes of which bears would normally be kept in. If he opened his eyes, he could just see the guards marching to and fro in front of the cell now. Three steps forwards; about turn, and three steps back. All he could hear was the deadly efficient clip of their boots against the flagstone floor.

He closed his eyes again, affecting deep sleep, and listened to the sound of their footsteps. Listening hard, through the fog that still clouded his mind, he could hear their low voices, talking. Talking about Camelot. He zoned in on their words, hoping beyond hope to pick up some clue as to Arthur's fate.

"What do you think about this assault on Camelot, then?" one said to the other.

His colleague replied in a voice that was surprisingly high. "If the newcomer can pull it off, then it can only be of benefit to us?"

"I dunno," the other added. "He seems one of them types that's out only for themselves, if you're asking me."

"Which I'm not," the other, high voiced man, replied.

"Suit yourself then."

Silence resumed. Merlin carried on lying perfectly still. He knew if he made no noise they would carry on ignoring him; assuming him to be out cold. It wouldn't last for ever, he knew that. But it gave him time; time to think of an escape and get back to Arthur, to warn him of what he had heard. It could be worse, he thought to himself, he could have been taken straight to Morgana.


	4. Signed, Sealed and Delivered

**Author's Note: **Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, alerted and favourited this story - it means a lot. The usual disclaimers apply, I own none of this. Thanks again for reading, and please review. Thank you.

* * *

**Chapter Four: Signed, Sealed, and Delivered**

The march back into Camelot had been exhausting for them all. Even Arthur, who led the way with Leon at his side, had begun to flag once they had reached the border between Essetir and Camelot. But as the familiar turrets of the Castle appeared through the haze, and over the prow of a distant hill, they felt their spirits lift. Despite all that, however, they had to leave the beaten tracks, and retreat into the dense foliage and thickets of trees. They had to duck into ditches at the approach of every horse and every stray traveller who crossed their path.

They were approaching the Valley of the Fallen Kings when the distant sound of horses hooves could be heard in the distance. Arthur flung out his arm to stop the others who were marching in line behind him and turned to face them, forefinger pressed to his lips. They all strained their ears as the sound got louder and as the distant pin-pricks of light from burning torches appeared through the tree trunks. There were at least forty of them, all – no doubt – heavily armed and mounted on great war horses.

"Follow me," whispered Leon, as he led them deeper into the woods.

It was so dark that they couldn't see where they were stepping. The brambles and bracken lashed at their ankles, and the dry twigs and fallen branches cracked under foot – a noise that seemed amplified in the stillness of the woods. Eventually, they came to a rocky out-crop, beneath which they could all just about fit themselves. To be safe, they drew whatever weapons they carried, and held their breath as they waited for the soldiers to pass. But as the moments drew out interminably, the horses got closer.

"Move on..." Arthur whispered under his breath as they passed right over head.

To his horror, the horses stopped. The crunch as dry leaves crackling as the men dismounted could be heard right over Arthur's head. The horses stamped restively, and they feared the force of that would bring the rocks down right on top of them.

"Any sign?" one man asked.

"Nothing," another replied, dejectedly. "Emrys is taken, already. I think it's just Arthur we're after, now."

Arthur, a dagger held out in front of him still, turned to look into the faces of his companions. Even in the pale moonlight, he could see them blanching with fear. Then, footsteps paused right at the lip of their little out crop. Any second now, Arthur expected the man to jump down and see them all hiding there. Even he, who'd ridden into battle more times he could count, was frozen with fear now. He counted the seconds down in his head, the seconds until he felt sure they would all be slain.

The man directly above them groaned, and then a narrow jet of steaming fluid suddenly shot down the precipice as he relieved himself over the edge of the out-crop. Right next to Arthur, Guinevere had to clamp her hand in her mouth to prevent herself from exploding with laughter. Next to her, Isolde looked repulsed, and Tristan was aghast. Even Arthur found himself struggling not to laugh. Compounding the issue, was the fact that it seemed to go on … and on...

"By the Gods, that's better," sighed the urinating man as it finally came to end. "You finished? Come on, back on the road. Agravaine wants us in the citadel of Essetir by nightfall tomorrow."

"No time to waste, then," concurred his companion.

Within seconds, they were re-mounted, and had re-joined the rest of their company. All five of them, squeezed into the aperture in the rock face, breathed a collective sigh of relief as soon the hoof beats faded into the distance again.

"And I thought only women went to the privy in packs," said Arthur as they emerged from their hiding place.

"Oi!" snapped Gwen, but immediately dissolved into laughter; laughter that proved infectious to the others.

The two of them walked side by side, joking about what had happened and playfully nudging one another. It was the first time they had managed a normal conversation, and they both relished it. But, Leon – reluctantly breaking up the cosy chat – reminded them of what the men had said.

"What's Agravaine doing in Essetir?" he asked. "And who is Emrys?"

Arthur and Gwen stopped in their tracks and turned to face him. Neither of them knew who Emrys was, and had long since stopped caring about Agravaine's safety.

"They're going to Lot's Kingdom," said Tristan. "He isn't exactly known for his hospitality."

"He'll make mince-meat of them all," added Isolde, exchanging a knowing look with Tristan. "Unless they're already up to something."

"If they have struck a deal with Lot," said Arthur. "We have no chance at all."

He could no longer bring himself to hear any more of the implications. The thought of Morgana's new alliances made his stomach burn as he stalked off into the night.

* * *

The messenger almost knocked Agravaine's door down in his haste. He crashed to a halt at the threshold of the chambers, and swayed, panting, on the spot. His face was flushed with the effort of his exertions, and his eyes shone in the failing light. Agravaine himself stood with his back to the room, watching the darkening horizon with apparent interest.

In the dusk, figures moved at the edge of the woods. He caught the odd flash of a blade, or a shifting shadow moving between the trees. The army from Camelot had obviously arrived. He turned from the window, a triumphant smile on his face. He already knew the news, but asked anyway. He wanted to hear it.

"Is that them?" he asked.

The messenger nodded. "Helios is at the gates, the men he's brought are getting ready to take the Castle."

Agravaine crossed the room, and dipped into a purse of gold coins that Lot had given him to pay the army with. He counted out a substantial amount, and handed it to the messenger. "There's your fee," he said, slipping two of the coins into the man's breast pocket. "There are two men guarding Lot's doors at all times. Take the rest to them, and tell them to take a few hours off. It should be enough to buy their silence."

"Thank you, Sire," replied the messenger. He looked down at the gold in his hands. Even the two coins he'd been given would feed his family for six months. With the rest, the soldiers could take early retirement.

"Once you have done that," said Agravaine. "You're to go down to the Castle's keep, lower the drawbridge and raise the portcullis. If anyone asks why, then you're to tell them it's only a deputation from Mercia."

The man nodded his understand, and backed out of the chamber. Agravaine turned a time piece that was sat on the desk, and watched the sands run through, draining swiftly away. As soon as its cycle was complete, and he deduced that the guards were now gone from Lot's doors, he took down a bunch of keys, before pulling a riding cloak over his shoulders. He had to act fast.

He left his chambers, strode purposefully down the passages that led to the royal apartments and climbed a narrow, twisting staircase that led to the third floor of the castle. He came to a gallery door, which he eventually managed to unlock after trying several keys, his hands trembling with nerves. Once he was through the first door, he had access to Lot's own inner sanctum. He paused in the archway where the guards should have been, and squinted through the falling darkness. He was alone.

Agravaine paused, and pressed his ear to the door. There was no sound from within, and he could have cursed as it occurred to him that Lot may not even be in there. But, undeterred, he tried the door. With so many guards around, this door was mercifully unlocked. He drew in a deep breath as he entered the chamber and almost sagged with relief as Lot came into view in the light of a hearth fire. He was dressed in an old chemise, evidently prepared to retire for the night.

The King lowered the book he was reading, and looked up at Agravaine in horror.

"Don't bother to bloody well knock, whatever you do!" he barked.

"Forgive me," replied Agravaine as he walked into the main chamber, where Lot was still trying to read despite the intrusion. "But, I have come to warn you of an imminent attack." He had to force the words from his mouth, now. His heart beat raced, and he did not know how long his resolve would hold for. And the way Lot looked at him at that moment would have turned a lesser man to stone.

"What're you talking about?" asked Lot.

The King got to his feet, displaying his spindly, bent legs as he did so. He was almost as pathetic as Uther was in his last days.

Agravaine wet his lips. "The attack; they're almost at the gates," he whispered low, barely audible as the moment drew closer. "Some are much closer to home, even than that."

Lot's expression turned from incredulous to enraged, and Agravaine knew he had to act fast. He lunged forwards, practically falling on the man and clamped a hand over his mouth, as he threw him to the ground. With one free hand, he grabbed a cushion from the chair and pressed it hard onto Lot's face and pushed down as hard as he could, with every ounce of his strength.

The old King lashed out with his arms, his body writhed and writhed, and Agravaine responded by simply bearing down on him, stuffing the fabric of the cushion into the mouth and nasal passages, blocking the air supply. But still the man struggled. Agravaine began to panic, and started casting about the room for an object to do the job properly. But, if he let go, Lot would over-power him in a second.

Below, from the direction of the main Keep, a crashing noise rent the silence of the castle, and voices raised in alarm. He knew it must be because the soldiers from Camelot had successfully stormed the Castle. With a surge of triumph, Agravaine bore down on the cushion with every ounce of strength that he had, and finally, the fight turned in his favour. Lot's thrashing limbs got weaker, the muffled, choking, gulps grew further apart, and after no more than another minute, the body was limp, lifeless; completely dead.

* * *

His name was whispered through the darkness of his unconscious mind. He stirred in his fitful, drug-induced sleep, but he did not awaken. Instead, images formed; resolved themselves in his mind's eye. He could see Morgana, her alabaster skin even paler in the pallid moonlight, framed by her raven hair. In her hand, she let a small snake curl itself around her fingers, but the creature writhes and swells to grotesque proportions as it bares its teeth, dripping in venom. It poises to strike before the explosion tears him from his dreams with a terrifying jolt.

Panting, Merlin got up but the guards are nowhere to be seen. On instinct, he threw himself back to the ground lest they should come back, bearing their chalice of poison to drug him back into the ether that he'd languished in for days now. But the running feet and shouting men ran past his cell and paid him no heed at all. His curiosity got the better of him, and he crawled forwards on his belly to see what was going on beyond the bars.

The breath hitched in his throat as the warning bell began to toll. The castle was under attack, and others were shouting that the King was dead. Merlin tried desperately to capture snippets of conversation, to pick up on what was going on, but the tumult was horrendous. The noise all merged, to form a clamour in which anything discernible was lost.

Ignoring his aching body, he began to pace the small space of the cell. He drew in deep, steadying breaths as he got his wits and senses together. Then stopped, closed his eyes and whispered the incantation quietly, over and over again, he repeated the words, feeling the effects getting more powerful. He blocked out the sounds of the fighting, focussed every fibre of his being, every iota of his concentration on the spell before releasing it. The prison bars rattled violently, bringing dust and loose masonry down, but they didn't open. He knew the effects of the Valerian were clouding him, but he repeated the same step again. Stronger, this time, the cage door flew open and he darted out into the open dungeon and ran as fast as he could.

He and Arthur had been here before, but he hardly remembered the way. More than once, he had to duck down alcoves, but once he reached the Castle Keep, the place was thronged with fighting soldiers. The sound of the fighting was deafening, but the combatants were so lost in the fight that they paid no heed to him. It was, he quickly decided, his only chance of escape. He made his way forwards bent almost double. Paying hardly any attention to way he was going, he hoped only to reach the exit. His stomach churned more than ever, and a stitch tore up his abdomen, and barely made it through the Keep. Two men, locked in hand-to-hand combat barred his way to the exit. So, he backed up, gathered what little strength he had left, and surged forwards, jolting them both out of the way as he did so, and emerged breathlessly into the forecourt of the Castle.

The fresh air slapped in the face like a final insult. His chest was burning; burning all the more now that he was gulping in great lungfuls of cold air. Exhausted, he sank to his knees barely six feet from the door of the Castle. He couldn't even make it as far as the gates. He rolled over on to his back, and shut his eyes. Just a few minutes, he swore to himself, and he would be up again.

"He's escaping!"

Agravaine's voice cut right across the noise of the battle going on inside the castle. Merlin immediately rolled back over, and made to run for his life. But as he lunged forwards, another man caught him in his open arms. He looked up into the face of man he'd not seen before, but he guessed the other man was no friend of his.

"I've got him," said Helios as he dragged Merlin into a nearby carriage.

"Take him now," commanded Agravaine as he came running over. "Force this down his throat, and don't stop till you get to Camelot. Morgana is waiting."

Merlin couldn't put up a fight. That magic required to get out of the cell, after so many days spent in a torpor had drained him. The dash through the castle had all but killed him, and now he was immobilised once more.

"The Castle is taken!"

A third voice called out, a voice that Merlin could no more recognise than he could the first man.

"Tell Morgana she is now Queen of Essetir."

Merlin felt each word like a kick to the stomach. He almost lost the will to keep breathing, and let himself be bound up by Agravaine's men. There was no use in fighting if Camelot was now going to be besieged by the men of Essetir, as well as those of Morgana. Their cause was lost, and now all he had to do was let himself be carried to his death for it to be over.

* * *

Morgana's footsteps were heavy on the flagstones as she paced the night away. She couldn't even bring herself to enjoy setting the knights to fighting her men, that evening. She retired early, and played the endless waiting game. But, it was dawn when the outrider came. His horse sped at an impossible speed through the gates of the Citadel. She held her breath and watched as the man dismounted, and hurried in doors.

Once he was out of sight, she resumed her restless pacing. Her nails were bitten down, and her nerves were jangled like a warning bell. And when the man appeared at the outer gallery door, she was light headed with anticipation.

"What news?" she snapped.

"Essetir is taken, Your Grace," he informed her. He was about to explain, when she held up her hand for silence.

"And Emrys?"

The man paused, a smile on his face. "Captured, Your Grace. Helios is two miles away, and he begs you have the cell ready."

The tension drained from her face, she smiled her first natural smile for weeks as she sank down onto the bed. She clicked her fingers at a cowed looking maid and ordered a strong drink. Finally, she felt the victory that had so long been denied her was close to hand.


	5. The Silver Bracelet

**Chapter Five: The Silver Bracelet.**

Over the lip of the eastern hills, the first traces of dawn pierced the darkness over Camelot. In the near distance, the walls of the Citadel sprawled along the rugged terrain, with the Castle itself jutting high and dominant over the town that clustered along its ramparts. The people of the town slept on, unaware of the small army crawling forwards, belly down, closing in for a dawn attack.

As always, Arthur was in the lead, but not two feet behind him came Sir Leon. They came to a steep bump in the group, over the ridge of which, they could just raise their heads to get a long look at the target, without giving away their position to the enemy. There, Arthur gave the signal to the others to halt.

"Have you seen something?" asked Leon, leaning in close to Arthur.

"By the gates," he replied, not daring to even point in that direction. "There's a cluster of torches, they're gathered around something. They're distracted."

That was good news for them. While the guards were busy dealing with the contents of the mystery carriage, they could probably infiltrate the citadel unnoticed, or catch the guards at unawares and gain an early advantage in any ensuing battle. Arthur looked back over his shoulder, and made a quick count of the men he had with him. Forty, in total – including Gwen and Isolde. Although an improvement on the four that he had just a few days ago, he knew that it was nowhere near enough to reclaim Camelot by force.

"Arthur, look at that," said Leon, nodding towards the guards again. "What is that?"

Arthur followed the line of his gaze, towards the limp figure now being half dragged, and half carried out of the back of the carriage. The distance was too great to get a proper look at who the prone figure was, but he could thought that he could hazard a guess.

"That's Merlin," he whispered under his breath. "I know it is."

He didn't want it to be him, but all the will in the world couldn't change his gut instincts. The others didn't seem to hear him; but it was with a renewed sense of purpose that Arthur gave the silent command for an advance. As one, they all crawled forwards, meter by meter, before dropping back to the ground before they could be seen. As they all hunkered down, they huddled together in a tight scrum, moving like well-oiled machinery, closing in on the Citadel. All the while, Arthur was aware of the soldiers manning the watch towers. The closer they got, the more likely it became that they would be seen.

"Arthur!" a voice hissed low to his left.

As he turned, Tristan dropped down beside him as they were about twenty feet from the gates. He pointed to a steep hillock, just a few feet from the gates.

"If we can reach that pit in the ground," he said. "It's a blind spot from the Towers; from there we can launch our attack. Don't you think?"

It was perfect. "Run, now, and they won't see us," he said, relaying the message to the others.

Seamlessly, they all ran forwards, and dropped out of sight to rest and breathe easily before making their final advance on the gates. The dawn had well and truly broken, and time was of the essence. It was now, or never.

"Tristan, you take out the guard on the left," he said. "Leon, you get the one on the right. While they're engaged, we storm the castle. Agreed?"

"Agreed," chorused everyone else.

"Right," said Arthur. "On the count of three..."

He made it to "two" before weapons were drawn and the whole of his army surged above the lip in the hill; as one, they charged for the Citadel. What they lacked in numbers, though Arthur as he was almost left behind, they certainly made up for in enthusiasm.

* * *

Merlin could feel the rough hands, their vice-like grip on his upper arms as they dragged him through the Castle of Camelot. He forced himself to stay calm, play dead and letting them do what they wanted to him. But, he knew that he was being taken straight to Morgana, and that soon, he would be either killed, or as good as killed. Her powers were ferocious, and she knew the darkest of magic of which he had never dreamed - less still actually practised.

He wanted to make a good end. He wanted to put up a fight, because now all was lost, it hardly mattered if anyone saw him using his skills. He had the freedom to fight. Just as they got into the Castle, however, the warning bell chimed out, its tolls shattering the silence and echoing down the empty streets outside. Merlin struggled to maintain his comatose pretence, even when the guards cursed heavily, and began dragging him towards the dungeons. It was a stroke of luck that could well have saved his skin.

"We'll have to deal with that now," one of the men said. "Take him down, and join me outside; soon as you can."

He opened his eyes a fraction; just enough to see the guards feet rush off the way they came, and had to force the smile off his face. Moments later, and he was locked in a cell in a dungeon deep below the Castle. He had heard his guards say that Morgana was on her way, and that gave him no more than five minutes to act. So, the moment his captor's footsteps had receded down the corridor outside, he was on his feet.

His mind was still clouded from the effects of the Valerian, but he willed himself to block it out. Forcing himself to concentrate on the spell he needed, he took a backwards step against the wall; the force of the spell would blow the whole wall down – he would make sure of that. But, as he set down his foot, he cursed as he trod on something, causing enough of a distraction to scatter his concentration. He looked down to see what the accursed object was, and felt the blood in his veins turn to ice.

Merlin bent down and picked the little silver bracelet up, holding it close to his face. It was nothing special. Wider than normal, with a bland pattern. But, it had belonged to Guinevere. He remembered seeing her wearing it before she was exiled from Camelot, when Lancelot had seemingly returned from the dead. He wondered where she was now, because if she had been here too, she was more than likely dead already. And if Guinevere had been captured, then so too had Arthur. A storm of emotion was suddenly let loose within him. He pocketed the bracelet, and turned to the door. The spell was almost effortless. The wall caved in like a house of cards, and within seconds he was charging down the corridor, busting open every cell door he passed with barely a word or a flick of the wrist.

The noise was enough to wake the dead, as masonry fell, and doors were torn clean off their hinges under the force of his spells. Panic guards careered around the corner, stopping with their weapons drawn when they saw him, but with one spell they were hurled clean off their feet and scattered like the wind. Now he was out, he intended to stay out. But amidst the din and the confusion, he heard a familiar voice.

"Merlin!"

He whirled round and almost laughed out loud with relief. "Gwaine!"

Through the clouds of dust and debris that spiralled through the air, the two of them stood and gaped at one another. Both equally at a loss for words. Then, still without words, they had gripped each other in the tightest of bear hugs. Merlin could have wept with joy when, behind Gwaine, Percival and then Elyan emerged, dazed and blinking, from their cell. They all looked at him as though they'd never seen him before.

"That," stammered Elyan. "That was you, wasn't it?"

"What?" replied Merlin, letting go of Gwaine and trying to look innocent.

Gwaine's eyes twinkled as he gave Merlin a wink. "Yeah, I was just going to say that's a neat trick you have there."

Merlin grinned. "No idea what you're talking about."

"This is serious," said Percival, taking Merlin to one side. "Gaius is sick; very sick-"

"What? Where is he?" the sweetness of their reunion had proved short-lived, and Merlin was again sick with worry and grief, but Percival was quick to try and reassure him.

"I can carry him out of here, don't worry, we won't let him die."

They had no weapons; beside their fists and their fighting instincts. And now, they probably had no more than seconds to get well away from the dungeons before Morgana was there with her henchmen. Their odds were getting higher, but after one glance around at each other, they knew they could make it if they stuck together.

* * *

Arthur and his army hadn't even made it as far as the Castle before they were engaged in battle. Entering the gates was easier than they had anticipated, and many of the townsfolk had taken up their pitchforks and come out to join him in the fight for the Citadel. But Morgana had been too quick to react, her army were thronging the streets. But as they battled through the marketplace a break in the formation had appeared.

"Follow me!" bellowed Arthur to the others.

He led the way through the crowds of fighters, headed for the Castle itself. Once they were inside, they could reclaim Camelot from within. But as they ran up the forecourt, the air suddenly turned black with a volley of arrows loosed by Morgana's men from the ramparts. They were sitting ducks, and the danger forced them back. But Arthur was not deterred.

"There's another way," he shouted to the others, as he began leading them to the back of the Castle.

He had used this entrance once before, to smuggle a Druid child out of Camelot, and it had left a gap in the wall to the Castle that led directly to the dungeons. He lowered Gwen down first, and then Isolde. When he turned to see who was next, he realised that they were all that had made it through the pitched battles being fought in the grounds of the castle. Ignoring the deflating feeling of dismay, he turned and lowered himself down in to the dungeon, and landed with a dull thud on the dusty floor. Gwen stood and stared at the scene before her, wide eyed with shock.

"Arthur," she said. "Arthur what's happened here?"

The whole dungeon had been decimated. It looked as though barrels of saltpetre had exploded, and the cells (what was left of them) were completely empty. But Arthur had little inclination to investigate further.

"Who cares?" he replied gruffly. "Now come on!"

He took off down the corridor with the girls following close behind; barely taking notice of the prison guards who'd been knocked unconscious. Beside them, however, the place was empty. There were sounds of fighting coming from the floor above them, in the main body of the Castle, but he could also hear Tristan giving the order to retreat.

"We need to get out of here," said Isolde. "Now."

"No," replied Arthur. "This way."

He knew they had lost, and that they were not taking back Camelot today. He didn't think anything could take away the humiliation of yet another defeat, either. After taking one final look at the girls, he gestured for them to retreat back the way they came. If they had more men, if they had better equipment, and more time to plan; it would have been easy. It was Gwen, at his elbow, who made him see sense.

"It is suicide, Arthur," she said, her expression soft. "Let's get out while we can, and regroup."

"I saw them bringing Merlin here," he said, leaning against what was left of the wall before he collapsed. "I swear, I saw them bringing him here."

Gwen seemed at a loss for words. She shook her head. "There's no one here, Arthur."

"I'm sure he'll be fine," added Isolde. He knew that they were just words of consolation, though, and they had no effect.

Heavily, he led the way back to the gap in walls and helped the girls climb back out again. Just as he was about to get out himself, he heard the scream. The scream so loud it made the whole building shake, causing even more debris to come crashing down around the ears of the inhabitants.

"Morgana!" hissed Arthur as he struggled through the narrow hole. Gwen and Isolde gripped his arms, and pulled as hard as they could, causing him to come crashing down on top of them. Once he was safe again, he breathed a sigh of relief and picked himself up.

"She didn't sound too happy, did she?" Isolde remarked drily.

"Never mind her," replied Arthur. "We need to get out of here."

Summoning what little strength and will they had left, they prepared to enter the fray once more. Only this time, they were fighting their way out of Camelot. They each exchanged a final look, before giving to nod to advance. Again.

* * *

"What do you mean he got away?"

Morgana whirled around and lashed out at Helios, her finger nails leaving livid red tracks that oozed blood, down the right side of his face. She looked around at the wreckage of her dungeon and screamed again. Helios recoiled from the noise, and swiped at the blood that was now trickling down his face.

"We were attacked as soon as we got him here," he hotly retorted. "The men had to repel the attack."

"I don't care about the attack," snapped Morgana, as she began to stalk the length of the dungeon.

She paused, and ran back the way she came. "Follow me!" she yelled at Helios. "He's an old man, he can't have gone far!"

Helios, however, grabbed her by the arm as she pushed past him and whirled her around. "What do you mean 'he's on old man'?"

She glared at him angrily, as though he were wasting her time. "By old I mean aged, you fool!"

Helios slowly shook his head. "No," he softly whispered, as though he hardly dared to speak. "No, he is a young thing; barely a man."

The colour drained from Morgana's face, and her expression froze in a mask of cold, bloodless, fury. "It's not bloody well him, then, is it?" she hissed through clenched teeth. She didn't know who she wanted to tear limb from limb first: Helios, Agravaine, or the fake Emrys. If she could, she would do all three at once.

Helios cast around desperately for something to calm the situation. "They said he used the name Merlin, my lady," he blurted out. But if he hoped for a calming effect, he was sorely disappointed.

"He's a fucking servant!" she screeched furiously. "He's no more Emrys that the rats that infest our foetid cellars!"

With that, she stalked off furiously back the way they had come. Behind her, Helios sagged with relief, and felt the damage done to his face. It could have been a lot worse. For Agravaine; it probably would be.

* * *

Isolde refused to leave Camelot without Tristan. She had fought with men twice her size, and won, to get to him and have the chance to be back in his arms. Even when in the heat of his own battles, Arthur had watched her with rocketing admiration for her. To love somebody that much …. his train of thought trailed off. He did love someone that much. His eye would alight on Gwen, but then his heart would break all over again. It was like tender destruction. It defeated him every time.

The townsfolk gave them cover until they reached the sanctuary of the forest, and for some reason, Morgana's men had not pursued them so far anyway. He shrugged, and assumed that Morgana must have had a hairbrush emergency that required emergency military action elsewhere.

He hardly knew where he was leading his people until he got there. But when he saw the disused Castle in the heart of the woods, he knew he'd found it. They went there last time.

"Is it safe?" asked Isolde, now stuck fast to Tristan's side.

"It's perfect," answered Guinevere. "And the others will know to look for us here."

"But not the enemy?" asked Tristan, brow furrowed sceptically.

Arthur raised a pained smile. "No, only the true ancestors of Kings know about this place. They won't find it."

Tristan shrugged, and followed Arthur inside. The wide chambers were dusty, and cobwebs hung like nets from every inch of the high, vaulted ceiling. It was gloomy and cold, with fallen masonry scattered around the floor. It didn't even look safe. In what was once a Great Hall, the chamber was dominated by a huge, perfectly round, table. Around its edge were intricate carvings, and at its side, sat some familiar faces.

"What took you so long?"

Arthur whirled around. "Merlin!"

Gwen gasped when she saw him, and had to sit down before she fell down.

"Who else?" asked Merlin, grinning from ear to ear. "Didn't think I'd let you do this alone, did you? You'll get yourself killed."

For the first time in his life, his witty retorts completely deserted him. "I … I thought you were taken, or dead," he choked, not even pretending that he wasn't choked with emotion. He even had a tear in his eye at the sight of his most faithful friend and ally. "What the ..."

"Oh don't worry, I can return the compliment," replied Merlin. "I thought you were dead, too."

"Then we're even!"

Arthur didn't care who was looking and pulled Merlin into an embrace. They held each other tight, before pulling away and clearing their throats; trying to be manly about the emotions that were choking them both.

Gwaine, Percival, Gaius, and Elyan had made it to their hiding place safely. Arthur felt sure that Leon and the others would make it out, too. They just had to plan search parties through the night to round them all up, and they could begin another advance. This time would be different, Arthur could feel it. Everything felt different now that Merlin was back.

Then, as night fell and Gwaine and Percival left to search for more of their number, Arthur and Merlin withdrew to a secluded spot away from where Gwen and Isolde tended to Gaius. Merlin produced the bracelet he had found in the cell, and dropped it in Arthur's hand.

"That's very kind of you Merlin," said Arthur, looking down at it. "I never knew you cared so much!"

Merlin sighed deeply. "No, silly!" he moaned. "Look at it. Don't you recognise it?"

Arthur flipped it over in the palm of his hands. "Nope."

Merlin leaned in a little closer, and kept his voice down. "Gwen was wearing when she was kissing Lancelot."

As Merlin could have predicted, Arthur's body stiffened and he looked repulsed. "Why are you tormenting me with this?" he demanded, turning angry on a trice.

"Listen!" Merlin hissed, grabbing Arthur's wrist so that he couldn't throw it away. "It's been charmed. Can't you see? Gwen was not acting of her own free will back there."

He would have given anything to make Arthur see. Merlin could sense the magic coming from it, but as always, he had woefully over-estimated Arthur's perception of the more esoteric things in life. But, he pressed on with his argument.

"I found it in the cell that Morgana's men threw me in," he explained. "It was the same one that you sent Gwen to, and I recognised it right away."

"Guinevere," Arthur called out, holding up a hand to silence Merlin. "Come here a second."

"Yes Sire," she replied, reverting to the more formal address now that things had become frostier than ever between them. But, when her eyes fell on the silver bracelet, she felt the tears well in her eyes, and the burning shame gnawing at the pit of her belly again. Merlin stepped in, and snatched it from Arthur's hand.

"Look!" he snapped.

He closed his eyes and turned away. Silently, he focused on the spell he needed. A second later and he heard the shocked gasps that let him know it had worked. Neither had noticed his sleight of hand. When he looked at it again, it was still glowing faintly blue.

"See!" he stated triumphantly. "Bewitched!"

Arthur and Gwen gaped at one another as though Merlin had suddenly vanished into thin air. He took a step back, waiting for the magical moment when the two friends that he loved the most finally kissed and made up. The smile on his face getting wider and brighter in anticipation. But, Gwen slowly broke down in tears. When Arthur reached out to touch her, she shrugged him off and ran off with tears streaming down her face. She left Arthur standing there, shell shocked, dazed and crestfallen.

"Go after her!" Merlin cried in exasperation.

He leaned over, giving Arthur a shove in the back. For a second, he seemed still too dazed to do anything, but soon got his wits together. As he watched Arthur finally go after her, he sat down at the table. Gaius was asleep now, and he had time to think of what the next step would be. They needed men, and he thought he knew where to find them.

* * *

Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story - it means a lot, so thank you for your support.


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